


Colour on the walls

by Seabiscuitthesniper



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seabiscuitthesniper/pseuds/Seabiscuitthesniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short character study of Jim Moriarty from 8 or 9 until he meets Sherlock.<br/>Brief mentions of Sherlock, John, Sebastian Moran, and Jim's mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colour on the walls

**Author's Note:**

> This is fairly short and only contains a brief mention of Sebastian, but Jim/Sebastian is implied a bit.  
> It also references killing people (how could a fic with both Jim and Seb not?) and smoking. It's a songfic set to Colour on the walls by Foster the people.
> 
> PS. I don't own Sherlock or any related characters so, yeah, not suing me for copyright infringement would be lovely.

_Walk little walk_   


_Small talk big thoughts_

_Gonna tell them all just_

_what I want_

__

__

Moriarty had always been brilliant -labeled a child prodigy from the age of 3- so it only came naturally to him to want to (and easily be able to) outsmart everyone. He absolutely despised small talk, except when it would benefit him. And if the situations which would benefit him just always turned out to be causing the death of some other brainless idiot, it was no big loss, Jim would think to himself. No big loss at all. 

 

_That street two streets_

_I see you and me_   


_Hanging on the empty swings_

  
_Count high low don’t worry my_

_eyes are closed_   
_I’m a superman and it’s my show_   


_One shoe two_

  
_Gonna kick with my new shoes_

  
_I’m going to kick until I need new shoes_

__

So when he met Sebastian Moran, formerly of the 1st Bangalore Pioneers and one of the few able to nearly keep up with him, he was pleased to say the least. Granted, he wasn’t a professor, but he was fairly well qualified in terms of education. In terms of less legal skills? In that, he was the best London (and arguably the entirety of the Northern Hemisphere, excluding Russia) had to offer. And so they made their way through Criminal London, ghost-like and untouchable. Moriarty knew he was in control of everything and everyone and he realized that yes, this was what he had been looking for all his life. He’d always had power over others, but this was new. Now he controlled who lived and who died. Oh _this_  he would smirk, was going to be so much fun

 

  
_I said uh-don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop_   


_Talkin’ to me_   
_Stop, don’t stop, don’t stop_   


_Giving me things_

__

By the time he met Sherlock Holmes he had control over the majority of London and what he wasn’t in control of, he would take for himself or burn so nobody else could have. It was rather possessive of him, he’d think in retrospect. Possessive, but fun. He’d always loved the smell of gunpowder. His father left so early that he couldn’t even remember his face, thank god. And god forbid his mother would ever keep a picture of him wherever they happened to live at the time. So his mother would sleep around, bring strange men home -which Jim later learned were men she’d meet at the shooting range nearest to where they lived at that point- who always reeked of gunpowder and cigarets. That’s how he picked up his two most dangerous (and favourite) habits. His mother went through a period (When Jim was around 12) where she decided to try and have long-term relationships (which for her lasted around 3 weeks,  6 tops. Not that the men she dated knew that) and the latest man she was ‘dating’ would attempt to bond with him. Jim called this the one-week rule. After one week of constantly hanging around the house the man would try to make conversation while Jim sat there pondering all the possible ways he could kill the man and how long and how painful each method would be. The less Jim talked the more they would try to bond but by around week 3 they would deem him a lost case and sit on the front porch with him and sneak him one of their cigarets while Jim’s mother was out of the house. It never worked, but he’d always go with it because if for some reason or another they lasted to week four, they would usually bring him around to the shooting range for some practice. And that’s how his two most deadly (and favourite) habits developed. 

 

  
_I run they run everybody run run_   


_And we’re all just having fun_   


_Sleigh ride boat ride piggy back ride_   


_I’m going to show them all how I can ride_   


_One two three close your eyes and count to four_   


_I’m gonna (I’d like) to hide behind my bedroom door_   


_Crayons on walls_   


_I’ll color on them all_   
_I’ll draw until I’ve broken every law_

__

__

  It really was all just a game to Jim. One big game. Watching Sherlock Holmes run around London with his pet trying to figure out the clues, pretending he cared about the hostages for John Watson’s sake. Watching all his little puzzle pieces dance around the board, twisting, twirling (and quite often burning ) bending to Jim Moriarty - The Napoleon Of Crime’s- will. And his right hand man, the ever loyal Sebastian Moran, the best crack shot in (and Moriarty had finally conceded that yes, it wasn’t just London) North America, doing the dirty work when Jim didn’t feel like getting his latest Westwood suit dirty. There were other times when Jim would participate instead of just waiting in the car for Sebastian to finish the job (and yes, he’d always wait in the car for him even if there was something more important he could be doing) because he felt the need to see the world, to see it burning and crumbling and being marred beyond recognition. He figured one of these days he would crack (even more) and burn down London. Perhaps even all of Britain if he was having a particularly bad day. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
